20120803

Wednesday June 8, 1977

Jubilee over and back to work. In keeping with tradition the first day back to work after the bank holiday is one reminiscent of a tropical heatwave. Someone up there must have it in for us, I fear.

The newspapers are full of jubilee articles. It is estimated that a million people were on the streets of London for yesterday's pageant. The Queen, if she's not doing so already, must be jumping for joy.

Carole phoned. She can't find any company taking parties to the Trooping of the Colour on Saturday. Thwarted yet again for the second year running. We're going to Oakwood Hall tomorrow for our weekly meeting. I suggested we might meet on Friday instead but she soon put a stop to that idea. Who will the lucky man be that night, I wonder? You can't tell me she leads a life of innocence from one Thursday to the next. Mind you, what else can I expect? Not much. Besides, I thought it was always the idea that I had a lady with interests other than myself? Carole's possessiveness during our last liaison virtually deadened the whole affair so now I should rejoice in the fact that she's far from besotted.

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